


All Kinds of Time

by aewriting



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bullying, College Football, High School Football, Homophobia, M/M, Michael Guerin Week 2019, Telekinesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 12:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aewriting/pseuds/aewriting
Summary: In the process of sticking it to Valenti, Michael inadvertently becomes a Division I college football recruit.***Day 2 of Michael Guerin Week: Distance





	All Kinds of Time

**Author's Note:**

> So... this idea has been rattling around in my head for a while, and when I saw today's prompt, it was the perfect excuse.

“God, you’re such a fuckin’ asshole.”

“The _fuck_, trailer trash?”

Michael rolls his eyes. He hadn’t actually meant to say it so loud, but whatever. He raises his eyebrows and looks at Valenti.

“You heard me. You’re a fuckin’ asshole.” His eyes dart, quickly, in the direction of Alex Manes, who’s already retrieved his notebook off the ground and is stalking away, muttering to himself.

Kyle’s looking at him, almost disbelieving, shaking his head. Two of his buddies are with him, Ramon and Scott. They’re bigger than Michael. Much bigger.

Michael’s eyes flit over to Manes again, who’s a safe distance away from the fray, but watching intently.

Kyle notices, and his eyes narrow. “What’s this about, Guerin? You trying to take Manes to homecoming?”

“Yeah, you trying to suck his dick, Guerin? I’m sure he’d let you,” Ramon pipes up.

Michael gives a little snort. “Nah, I’m trying to do your boy a favor.” He leans back a little. “See… if I was dating a girl like Liz Ortecho, trying to get into her…” he casts a long, lascivious glance in Liz’s direction, and she chooses that moment, oblivious, to bend down and pick up a piece of paper. “Wow, _very _tight pants…” He likes Liz, she’s smart and nice, and he feels a little bad bringing her into this, but then he sees Kyle clench a fist at his side. Good. “I don’t think it would help me to be an asshole to her best friend.”

Kyle shakes his head minutely. “Yeah, you’re _so_ helpful, Guerin.”

“Seriously, man, do you really think you’re better than everyone else just cause you can throw a goddamn ball?”

Scott laughs harshly. “I’d like to see _you_ try, Guerin.”

Michael stops.

Smiles.

“You’re on.”

***

“_Would Michael Guerin please report to the principal’s office? Michael Guerin, please report to the principal’s office.”_

Michael rolls his eyes. The teacher looks at him, and he shrugs, getting up from his seat and making his way to the office.

Sometimes he knows exactly why he’s being summoned, and other times it’s more arbitrary. Today is one of those arbitrary days.

He’s not expecting Coach Grant.

“I hear you put on quite a show during Lunch Period A today, Michael.”

Michael shrugs.

“I have heard from no fewer than ten students about how you, very handily, threw a football farther and more accurately than my starting quarterback. Five times in a row.”

Michael tries to look bored. “And? Am I in trouble or something?”

Coach’s eyes narrow. “Sit down, Guerin.”

Michael doesn’t like the tone, but sits anyway.

“Why aren’t you on the team?”

Oh god, this is why he’s here? Michael actually laughs. “You serious?”

“Very serious right now. With an arm like that, I could use you.”

“Mmm, I bet you could,” Michael says sarcastically, and the Coach looks at him sharply.

“Michael…” Coach’s voice trails off. “If you were willing to join the team, come to practice and games, there’d be a good chance you’d get playing time if we could shape some of that raw talent.”

“And what’s in it for me? Why the hell would I give up my time to help you out and hang out with a bunch of assholes that hate my guts?”

Coach is just staring at him. “From what the kids were saying, you didn’t just squeak by Valenti, you schooled him. I had Randall Redpath show me where you both started, and where your throws landed. 70 yards, Guerin.” Michael just blinks at him. “70 yards! That’s, like, Division I collegiate level shit right there!”

Oops.

Coach shakes his head, “Pardon me, _stuff_ right there. My god, Michael. Why have you never tried out?”

Michael quirks an eyebrow at him, and Coach leans back in his seat.

“Listen, kid, I don’t know you. But it’s a small school, and you hear things, even if you don’t want to. I have a feeling that, even if you’d wanted to play, back when you were younger, it’s not like you could have driven yourself to practice, not like you could have bought your own uniform and cleats.”

Shit. Michael looks away. It’s that obvious, huh?

“If you join the team, if you’re good… with an arm like you have, you could go to college, Michael. At a discount, or free, even. And if you’re at practice, or at games, well… then you’re not at home, are you?”

Michael bites his lip, studies Coach Grant. His face looks open, hopeful. Michael takes a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

***

“What the actual fuck, Guerin?”

Michael closes his locker and braces himself, startling a bit when Alex Manes’ face is revealed. Michael just looks at him, and Alex doubles down on the disapproval.

“I don’t need _defended_.” He says it like it’s a curse. “I can fight my own battles. So just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Alex,” Michael says quickly, reaching out and touching his shoulder. Alex whips around, almost violently, and Michael instinctually withdraws his hand. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just…”

Alex looks at him expectantly, exasperated. “Just what?”

“Valenti had it comin’,” Michael mutters. “When he does that shit to you, calls you names?” Fuck, how to explain it? “Like, it’s not like he’s doing it just to you, you know?” Alex looks at him confused, not getting it. “I mean, you’re the face of it, the target, but… when no one does anything?” Alex scoffs a bit, and Michael’s afraid he’s losing him. “I mean, _you _do something. Like, you stand up for yourself and shit, but everyone else? They just let it happen. Like… it’s not just you he’s hurting.” Michael shrugs. “I was sick of it.”

Alex has gone very still, and he’s just staring at Michael, considering him with those wide, lined eyes. 

“And I kind of kicked his ass, with the football, so there’s that.”

Alex actually cracks a smile. It’s small, but it’s real. “Yeah, there’s that.”

***

When Michael leaves school, Max is leaning against his truck, waiting for him.

“We need to talk.”

They drive to Max’s house, with his nice parents and nice yard and nice furniture. They get cold sodas from the fridge and put them on actual coasters. Mrs. Evans smiles at them and asks what kind of chips they want.

Imagine having chips in the house. Imagine having a chip _choice_, and someone that cares about that.

Max, oblivious, asks for Doritos. Michael just nods his head dumbly, going along with whatever’s being offered. Isobel snags a little can of flavored sparkling water (again, _choices!_), and they head up to Max’s room.

Max looks very serious as he sits down on the bed. Michael tries not to laugh.

“I know you used your powers today, Michael.”

Michael raises his eyebrows. “And?”

Max’s brow furrows. “We agreed! We stay under the radar, and we don’t attract attention. Showing up Valenti like that? It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

Isobel shrugs. “I thought it was fantastic. Valenti’s an ass. He had it coming.”

Michael gestures toward Isobel. “Thank you! My thoughts exactly.”

Max shakes his head. “Just don’t do it again, okay?”

It rubs Michael the wrong way, the way Max says it. “No can do. Coach just made me join the team.”

Isobel nearly chokes on her drink. “The football team? You’ve joined the fucking football team?” She coughs, then begins to laugh. “Oh Michael, oh my _god _that’s amazing.”

Max looks wild-eyed. “For real? You? You’re seriously on the team?”

“Looks like it.”

Isobel’s still grinning wickedly. “First order of business, Michael, I want you to go in that locker room and tell me whose dick is the biggest.”

Michael smiles, all teeth. “Well that’s easy, Iz – it’s me, of course.”

“You asshole,” she says, laughing.

“I can’t believe you would do this.”

Max’s voice is low, strong, and any levity Michael feels is immediately chased away. “Can’t believe I’d do what, exactly? Look out for myself? Take care of myself? If I don’t do it, no one will, okay?”

Max actually looks confused, damn him. “What are you talking about? I mean, whatever, join the damn team, I don’t care. Just don’t use, you know, your…. advantage.”

“My advantage,” Michael repeats. “My _fucking_ advantage.” He shakes his head. He can tell Iz knows where he’s going with this by the way she’s shrinking back, eyes wide and darting. “If we’re gonna talk about advantages, let’s talk. Advantages are having parents that give a shit about you. That don’t smack you around cause they’ve had a shitty day. Food in the cupboards. Money for clothes and books and gas and fucking _anything._” Michael feels the wetness in his eyes, doesn’t give a shit. “God damn it, Max, if I do this, I could actually get out of this town. So I’ll use any damn advantage I can get.”

He gets up, then. Takes the Doritos with him.

***

From the moment he throws that damn football, Michael’s life becomes a roller coaster ride that just doesn’t stop.

The Tuesday after his first game, Hank, his foster dad, announces that they’re going out for burgers. He’s never taken Michael out for burgers before.

Michael’s stomach is in knots the whole drive to the Crashdown. He’s sure Hank is going to tell him that he’s getting placed somewhere else – different family, different city. He just… he _can’t_. Not again. He’s seventeen fucking years old. He’ll live out of his truck if he has to, run off somewhere before he lets the state roll the dice with him again.

“Get whatever you want,” Hank says, gruffly, as they look over the menus.

Whatever he wants? It must be really fucking bad news. And also, yeah _right_. He orders the cheapest burger. He knows it by heart. It’s the one he always gets when Max is paying.

He can barely eat it. Hank notices. “Come on, boy, eat up.”

Michael looks at him questioningly. Is Hank planning to sell him for meat? He’s never once commented on his eating habits before. Hell, he barely remembers to even keep food in the house.

Hank inhales his double bacon cheeseburger and starts on his fries. “I was talking to Tom down at the Pony. He said you’re playing quarterback.”

Michael just keeps eating.

“Boy?” Hank says, his tone sharp.

Michael swallows. “Uh, yeah… that’s right.”

“Didn’t know you could play. Tom said you were good, too.”

Michael shrugs. “Kyle’s still the starter.”

“Kyle Valenti, Jim’s son?” Hank whistles low. “Jim had a hell of an arm, could have played college ball if he hadn’t been so focused on being a cop. Tom said you threw better than Valenti. Wouldn’t mind seeing that for myself.”

“Okay.” Michael’s done with his burger and fries.

Arturo comes by the table. “Onion rings?”

“Oh, we didn’t order –“ Hank starts.

“No?” Arturo says over Hank’s shoulder, winking at Michael. He knows Michael loves the onion rings. “My mistake. On the house!” he says, a smile on his face as he walks away. Michael watches as Hank palms three at once and shoves them greedily into his mouth. As Michael starts on his first, Hank watches him.

“There anything you need at the house?”

Michael is just staring at Hank, uncomprehending.

“Food, clothes, anything like that?” Silence. “Like, for football?”

This is dangerous ground, Michael feels. A part of him wants to rage at Hank, chew him out for not giving a fuck about him before this. But the other part…

“Bananas. I’d like some bananas.”

***

It’s almost sick, really, how much better everyone treats him. The only thing that changed, the _only _thing, was that he threw a ball really far. That’s it. He wasn’t smarter, or kinder, or better looking, or taller, or fucking anything else.

But now, oh, now…

After just two games, Michael’s starting. Kyle’s riding the bench. Cheerleaders are flirting with _him_, not Kyle.

Coach pulls Michael out of third period, sits him down.

“Look, Michael,” he says, tone serious. “We’re not a big school. You’re not going to get the interest that the big schools in Santa Fe and Albuquerque can draw.” Michael looks at him blankly. “I want to put together a highlight reel for you.”

“Highlight reel?”

“Yeah, footage of some of your best plays, and especially that arm of yours.” Coach leans forward. “I… I wish I had more experience with this, honestly.”

“With… what, exactly?”

Coach is looking at him, a look of uncertainty on his face. “Guerin… do you follow football at all? I ask because I’ve been getting some calls about you. Recruiters. Mostly smaller schools at the moment, but word’s gotten out about how far you can throw, and how accurate you are. If we can create some viral content, a good highlight reel, get you noticed… Michael, I think you have a real shot at a Division I or II school. And that, that’s where I just don’t have the experience. I think the last guy we had that garnered that kind of interest was Peduzzi – remember him?” Michael shakes his head. “Probably before your time. Ended up going to University of Colorado. But Michael – I’m going to try my best to get you somewhere, you understand? Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

It’s surreal. “Okay. Okay.”

***

Turns out, Michael’s good at football. Some of it’s physics, some of it’s strategy. Some of it’s just pure adrenaline and self-preservation. Thanks, foster care.

And of course, a lot of it’s telekinesis.

The hardest part is actually the practices, at least at first. Oddly, Kyle himself keeps his distance. His buddies, though…

Michael’s on the ground, nearly wheezing, starting to get up before Scott pushes him, hard, back to the ground, pinning him there with his body. “You like this, Guerin?”

Michael pushes him up, off of him, using his hips and a little hint of power for good measure. Scott flips over, startled. “So what if I did? Fuck off, Scott.”

“Eat my ass.”

Michael blows him a kiss. “You wish, baby.” One of the younger guys laughs, helps Michael up. Michael can see Valenti, down field, just staring.

***

Scott eventually keeps his mouth shut.

Ramon, though… Ramon is mean.

“Bet you have plenty of practice getting hit at home, huh Guerin?”

Michael looks up at him sharply. The sex stuff, he just deflects. It’s stupid anyway. This, though…

“The fuck, Ramon?”

It’s Valenti, surprisingly enough. “Lay off.” Ramon shakes his head and trots away. Valenti looks like he’s going to say something more, but doesn’t.

***

It’s the homecoming game. Michael’s starting quarterback, and they’re going to win the fucking game. He completes a 65-yard pass. Randall gets it all on video. It’s beautiful.

Not as beautiful as Alex Manes, though, holy _christ_.

He’s sitting in the stands in the Roswell section, nestled between Maria and Liz, dressed all in black. Michael wonders if he’s high or drunk, or _something_, because he’s never seen him at a game before, it’s so not his scene, and not only that… it looks like he’s having fun. He’s smiling, pointing things out on the field, and oh holy shit…

He’s looking right at him. He’s grinning.

And Michael is powerless to do anything but grin right back.

The moment’s broken when a heavy hand claps him on the back. “Look alive, Guerin. You’re up.”

“Yessir,” Michael barks out, throwing Coach a smile and running back onto the field.

Between plays, he scans the stands again. Alex isn’t there. Where could he be? Concession stand, maybe? Michael ends up running the ball in for a touchdown. God, this sport is just made for telekinesis. It’s so easy for a defender to slip, slow down unexpectedly…

Alex still isn’t back in his seat. Michael’s brow furrows when he finally spots him. He’s not far from the bench, actually. He’s arguing with a cold-eyed older man. A teacher? No, Michael doesn’t recognize him. Michael backs up toward the stands, close as he dares.

Bits and pieces, he catches…

“…finally acting like a fucking man… should have known better…” The guy’s right in Alex’s personal space. “… no son of _mine…” _Shit, it’s his dad. This asshole is his fucking dad. “…drooling like a goddamn dog… you perverted piece of shit… embarrassing me…”

“_Michael!” _

Biting his lip, hard, Michael gets back on the field. The next time he looks up, Alex and his dad are gone.

***

They make it to the playoffs. First time since the Jim Valenti era. They win the state championship in their super-small school division.

It’s fun, it really is, but to Michael’s surprise, that’s not where it ends.

There are college visits. Recruiters, letters of intent, camps. The easiest thing, honestly, is the grades. Michael can do that in his sleep. And he has no social media presence, so he doesn’t have to worry about posting something dumb.

Isobel becomes his de facto manager. “I’m going wherever you go, Michael,” she announces. “You’ll need me there. You’ll need my… influence.”

Michael’s already used her “influence” a couple times, always for medical stuff. There’s no way he’d pass a standard physical, and with Isobel, he doesn’t have to.

They don’t talk about Max. “He’ll come around,” Isobel tells him. Michael hopes she’s right.

They’re on a college visit, sharing a hotel room when Isobel suddenly rolls over and fixes him with a look.

“So… who was it?”

Michael laughs, looks at the ceiling. He’s been expecting this grilling for a long time. “You’re not gonna like the answer.” She props herself up on her elbow, looks at him expectantly. “Valenti.”

Isobel throws a pillow at him. “No! You’re lying!”

“I swear I’m not!”

She shakes her head in wonder. “He’s not even that tall.”

Michael shrugs. “Tall where it counts, I guess?”

“Ugh,” Isobel intones. She’s silent a while, then lets out a little laugh. “Little Lizzie Ortecho… who’d have guessed?”

Michael groans. “Oh god, please don’t tell Max.”

“I won’t,” Isobel promises.

***

Michael is pretty sure Alex is avoiding him.

He tries, he really does. He steals his guitar. Alex just asks for it calmly and walks away. Michael visits the UFO Emporium. Alex gives him, and some tourists, a very professional tour. When they’re back at the booth, Michael pulls him aside.

“Did I do something, Manes?”

Alex’s jaw tightens, and he looks away. “Nope.” There’s silence between them, heavy and awkward. “I hear you’re a four star recruit,” Alex finally says.

Michael’s eyes widen in surprise. “Yeah… didn’t realize you followed that kind of thing.”

“I don’t, but…” There’s a dinging. A sunburned family of four is standing at the ticket counter. Alex looks down. “I have to go.”

***

He commits to the Bruins. UCLA.

“L.A., baby!” Isobel crows.

Max just shakes his head.

***

Michael and Isobel have loaded up the truck. Michael’s grateful Max is seeing them off, but worried about how much their relationship has deteriorated. Before he gets in the driver’s seat, Max grips his arm, hard.

“You blow our cover, it’s on _you_, Michael. Remember that.”

Michael swallows, hard. “Love you too, Max.”

***

He and Isobel agree that he’s not trying to be a star, not trying to get to the fucking NFL or anything. It’s already harder than they thought, dealing with the physicals, the testing, even just little shit like heart rate monitors on all the fucking treadmills. Michael just wants to go to college and get it paid for, all four years.

He doesn’t have much free time. Between practices, training, games, media, and his full course load, there’s not a lot of time for fun.

Well… there’s _some _time for fun.

Michael’s a junior when one of the tight ends, a spoiled rich dude from out east, drags him and a handful of teammates out to a high-end sushi restaurant in the city.

“How have you never had sushi, Guerin?”

“I grew up in the fucking desert, okay?” Michael feels out of place. This restaurant is too nice, the food’s too expensive, and the waitstaff is too… holy _fuck_.

“Welcome to Umi, my name is Alex and I’ll be your server this evening.” He looks politely around the table until locking eyes with –

“Guerin, oh my god.”

Michael’s teammate, Gregg, chuckles. “Big Bruins fan?”

Alex suddenly looks down, face coloring. Is… is he embarrassed? “No man,” Michael speaks up quickly. “This is Alex. We went to high school together.” Michael bites his lip a little, sneaks a peek up at Alex. He’s a little taller now, a little broader. No eyeliner, but he’s got a few piercings in. Tattoo on his wrist. Still hot as fuck. “It’s because of this guy that I threw my first football.”

Alex’s eyes go wide. He’s sucking in a breath and looking right at Michael. There’s heat to it, and Michael’s looking right back.

“No way!” Gregg laughs merrily. “We owe you one, man!” The moment’s broken, and Alex is back to being their waiter, smooth and professional. Michael bets the tips are good here. He keeps trying to get Alex’s attention, but it seems like there’s always something getting in the way. Finally, at the end of the night, he turns to his buddies.

“Look, you guys go back without me. I haven’t seen my friend in like three years. He’s not on social media or anything. I’ll catch a ride later, okay?”

Gregg shrugs. “Sounds good, Michael. See you in the weight room tomorrow.”

“You know it man. Good night.” Michael watches them go, then lingers by the host stand. “Um… I went to high school with Alex, Alex Manes?”

The hostess goes from bored to amused. “Aw, no way!”

“You think you could get him for me real quick, if he has a break?”

She smiles at him. “Sure.” She turns as if to go, then turns back abruptly. Flirtatiously. “Hey, do I know you?”

“Maybe?”

“You on a show or something?”

Michael laughs. “Nah, I’m the quarterback for the Bruins.”

She gives him a big, approving grin. “Let me go get Manes.”

After just a few seconds, she returns with Alex, who looks a little frazzled. Michael watches as Alex’s eyes dart between the hostess and Michael. Alex seems to decide something, and it can’t be good, because he takes a step back and his face goes cautiously blank. “I see you’ve met Michael. Nikki, Michael. Michael, Nikki.”

Nikki looks at him with amusement. “You didn’t tell me you knew a college football star, Alex.”

“Um, star is a little generous,” says Michael.

Nikki grins. “Alright then, Mr. Humble.” She looks at Alex again. “You didn’t tell me you knew a hot college quarterback, Alex.” Michael can feel a blush beginning.

Alex shrugs. “I don’t really follow football.” Ouch. Okay, then.

The three of them stand there. Alex scratches at his neck. He’s wearing his hair longer now, Michael notices. “I have tables to get back to, so…”

“Want to get a drink, after this?” Michael asks, hope in his voice.

“Me?” Alex asks, looking at Michael, then at Nikki in confusion.

“Yeah, you, Manes,” Michael says. “I haven’t seen you in years, and I had no idea you were in L.A. Let’s catch up. What time do you get off?”

“Like, tonight?” Michael nods. “Probably around 11 – that work for you?”

“I’ll be here,” Michael grins.

***

“Holy fucking _shit, _Alex.” Michael arches backwards on Alex’s bed. “Don’t stop, don’t you _dare_ fucking stop.”

Michael can _feel _Alex grinning around his cock.

He slams his head against the pillow. “_Fuck._”

***

Alex is running his hand down his chest, feeling the skin, the hair, the muscle. Alex is a mess from sleep, and sex, and he’s never looked better to Michael.

“Never thought I’d sleep with a college football player.” There’s a shy smile on Alex’s face, one that grows as he keeps speaking. “Always hoped I’d sleep with you, though.”

***

“I’m dating Alex Manes,” Michael tells Isobel.

Her eyes widen, then she grins. “Oh my god, Michael, good for you.”

Michael releases the tension he’s been carrying, absurdly grateful for her approval.

“You know, I always wondered about that.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm hmm,” Isobel nods, soft smile on her face. “There were so many times, growing up, that you could have used your powers to make things better for yourself, easier. Or you could have asked me to use my powers – like, influence my parents to adopt you, influence the state to give you a better placement. But you never did. Not till Kyle was bullying Alex and you threw that stupid football,” she said fondly.

Michael can’t even speak, just opens his mouth, closes it again. “You…” he starts. Isobel’s looking at him quizzically. “You’d have done that for me?”

Even Michael can see the disbelief, the _love _on her face. Before it even computes, she’s hugging him, tight. “My god, Michael, of course, of _course _I would have!” He can feel her body shaking as she holds him. He’s shaking too. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. _Nothing_.”

It’s what he’s needed to hear since they were found.

***

“I can’t be out yet, Alex.”

“I know,” Alex says, face downcast. “It’s just… I wish it could be different. Wish I could do the things that other people do, you know? Hold your hand…” Michael grasps Alex’s hand. “Mmm… kiss you.” Michael brings his hand to the side of Alex’s face, coaxes him into opening his mouth to him. “Just… god, just _be _together.”

“One more season, Manes,” Michael says, working his hand down under Alex’s belt. “One more season.”

***

“You promised, Michael.”

“I _know_, Max, and I have every intention of keeping that promise.”

“Will you, though?” Max sighs loudly. “Huntington’s hurt, so that leaves you. You really going to just hang everything up at the end of the season, not enter the draft?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, confident in his plan.

***

He gets through all four years, full ride.

He applies to grad school in astrophysics, gets accepted.

He doesn’t get hurt.

He doesn’t get outed.

(As being bi _or _being an alien).

People don’t understand why he doesn’t want to at least try the draft.

“A lot of these NFL teams need young quarterbacks as back up, to take snaps during practice. I honestly think you’re competitive for that, Michael. Look what you did against USC this year! I mean, that’s a highlight reel all its own,” says Coach.

In the end, Michael calls a press conference.

***

“I’m so grateful to the Bruins organization, but I just don’t think that professional football is where my future lies,” he says, nearly blinded by the flashbulbs. “I am looking forward to devoting my time to advancing my education. I’m pleased to say that I’ll be enrolling at Stanford in the fall, in their graduate department of astrophysics.” He hears a gasp go up. He grins.

“And I can’t _wait_ to spend more time with my boyfriend.”

***

“That was really brave, Michael,” Alex tells him that night.

Michael’s quiet, very quiet. “You know,” he says carefully, “me being bi? That’s not even my biggest secret.”

Alex looks at him, surprised. “What is?”

“That day in high school, with Valenti? And the football?” Alex nods. Without warning, the bed begins floating. Alex is wide-eyed, gaping.

Michael smiles. “I cheated.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Fic title is my favorite football song, "All Kinds of Time," by Fountains of Wayne.


End file.
